Monday Poem by Melissa Fry Beasley. Today: Firelight Of Grief
Firelight Of Grief
To Adrian C. Louis
Adrian tells me its not necessary for Eagles to be Crows.
I know this means that where he is one,
He thinks me quite the other. (in his castigation)
But we both delight in the simultaneity of deprivation.
Embarrassed knowledge taken like a fortress.
I caution him that here is where he will encounter thunder bolts.
Causing rainstorms to scatter the dust of our dead
As we gather shadows at dusk, singing our song of mourning.
Yes you should have fucked that pale Cherokee.
You watched her long enough to memorize her taste
And all the chords of longing.
She was burned into your mouth and mind as you
Dreamed she swallowed your poison like whiskey.
Chance is so indiscriminate.
This is no declaration of love
But of things whispered, imagined,
Invented, and sung,
Found in the firelight of grief.